


written in the stars

by ourlovelybones



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Drama, Friendship, M/M, Pining, Some Angst Moments, some soft moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-12 07:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15334527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourlovelybones/pseuds/ourlovelybones
Summary: Even sits down on the floor beside him, his fingers playing with his laminated VIP badge. “You’re overthinking the crowd thing. They weren’t dead, per se. You’re just a little tired.”Isak is very tired, but it’s still not the right word to explain the heavy feeling in his bones and the empty weight in his heart. He should be over the moon right now. He should be dancing with Even to the venue’s after-show playlist and drinking beer to celebrate his best friend agreeing to finish out the rest of his U.S tour with him. It’s more than exhaustion he feels but Isak can’t quite describe exactly what it is - and certainly not to the person who took a whole two weeks off of work to come on this tour.{the one where even follows isak around on tour but isak doesn't want to deal with his feelings}





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> whew. haven't written anything for these two since my birthday! thank you Ericka1991 for commenting on an old story of mine and giving me inspiration to come back. i've been meaning to write an evak related au for a WHILE now, but i wanted it to be challenging and different than anything i've written before.
> 
> not sure if this counts as that or even what this is, but hope you guys don't hate it. :) apologies in advance for any typos fjkdsfkjhds

Every night, there’s a different energy in the crowd reacting to the setlist. Different faces, different items thrown at him on the stage, different venue rules. He’s playing new and different songs, but yet everything feels the same.

The same routine again and again as he runs on stage, smiling under the bright fluorescent lights, with his electric guitar ready to play the music  _ he’s _ written. The same routine of looking up to the same face in the crowd again and again, always right where he expects him to be - in the top right corner of the Mezzanine, beaming back down at him with nothing but unconditional pride in his eyes. 

And it’s his face up there, his support that keeps Isak going again and again, night after night. His face that reminds him of the little kid who used to dream of this, playing sold-out shows around the world. Playing his own music that he’s written, songs for dreamers, songs for heartbreakers, songs for lovers. 

His face is what makes the gaping hole in his chest a little more bearable to deal with. 

 

I.

 

“You did great tonight!”

Isak smiles sheepishly as he comes offstage after the finale encore, wiping his forehead with the bottom of his faded t-shirt. “You don’t think the crowd was a little dead tonight?”

Even shrugs, but looks thoughtful for a moment. Against the black walls of the backstage waiting area, he looks out of place in his neon blue tee-shirt that has Isak’s name and face printed in the center of it, but his presence nonetheless calms Isak. “Eh, it’s a Wednesday night in Boise, Idaho. I think you did great.”

Even’s the kind of person to tell you that although the crowd was pretty dead that night, at least you did the best you could! Isak loves him for that.

He flops down onto the plastic couch, ignoring the tight time schedule the band is running on. He’s supposed to be showering in the venue’s dressing room before heading back to his tour bus soon so that they can all head out of Idaho by midnight and make their way to Seattle, but he can’t bring himself to move his body.

“Tired?”

“Sure.”

Even sits down on the floor beside him, his fingers playing with his laminated VIP badge. “You’re overthinking the crowd thing. They weren’t  _ dead _ , per se. You’re just a little tired.”

Isak is  _ very _ tired, but it’s still not the right word to explain the heavy feeling in his bones and the empty weight in his heart. He should be over the moon right now. He should be dancing with Even to the venue’s after-show playlist and drinking beer to celebrate his best friend agreeing to finish out the rest of his U.S tour with him. It’s more than exhaustion he feels but Isak can’t quite describe exactly what it is - and certainly not to the person who took a whole  _ two weeks _ off of work to come on this tour. Ever since Isak had started touring, he had grown accustomed to Skyping Even after each show, to see a familiar face in what felt like a foreign world. Even always knew how to cheer him up in ways his school friends didn’t, so just seeing his face used to be enough for Isak.

And when it wasn’t, when he picked up the phone and impulsively, jokingly asked Even to come finish the rest of the tour with him, he was more than surprised to hear Even already typing his credit card information into the airline website.

So instead of dwelling on the grey rain cloud raining over him, he lifts himself back up to look Even in the eyes and say, “Drinks on me tonight. Let’s get shit-faced.”

 

II.

 

_ “Hm. Sounds like you’re bored.” _

Isak rolls his eyes and rolls over onto his side in the cramped bunk bed on his tour bus, keeping his phone pressed to his ear. “I’m not bored. I just don’t really know what it is.”

_ “It sounds like boredom.” _

Isak can hear the water of the shower running in the tiny bathroom in the back of the bus and Even singing to himself. He’s singing (a little off-key, but Isak still finds it endearing) one of Isak’s songs off the newest album that almost didn’t make the cut. His record label thought it just didn’t  _ quite _ match Isak’s sound or fanbase. 

Isak thought they were just homophobic. 

“But can’t be boredom, Jonas.” Isak sighs. “I’m living the dream. I’m writing my own music, singing my own songs in front of thousands of people each night. How can that be boredom?”

_ “I haven’t heard anyone sound as bored you just did talking about your ‘dream’ than the last time I talked to Mahdi about our Economics project that’s due next week.” _

“But it can’t be boredom.” Isak insists before he hears the shower turning off in the bathroom. “Hey, listen I gotta go, Even’s getting out of the shower. I’ll buy you something nice from Seattle.”

_ “Man, I can’t even believe you’re  _ _ bored _ _ getting to do the coolest job ever. Wanna come take my Uni classes for me instead?” _

Isak pretends that he doesn’t ponder the idea - even for a millisecond.

_ “You should’ve asked  _ _ me _ _ to come on tour with you, it would’ve been fucking lit. Tell Even I said hey, though.” _

Even comes out of the tiny bathroom cubicle in the tour bus, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Water droplets fall from his angelic blond curls and drip down his perfectly toned chest, carved from heaven itself.

It takes Isak a minute to realize Even’s talking to him.

“What?”

“Enjoying the view?” Even says with a smirk, using another towel to dry his hair.

Isak makes a face at him and rolls his eyes, pointedly turning back on his side to look out the window. You’re allowed to find your childhood best friend attractive - it’s written somewhere in the rules of childhood best friendship. “What view? This one’s great, sure. I love parking lots.”

“You’re such a smart-ass. Anyways, I had asked how’s Jonas doing?”

_ You’re such a smart-ass, _ Isak says pettily in his head. “He’s fine.”

“Hey, have you even gotten out of bed yet? It’s two in the afternoon.”

Isak had actually woken up at nine that morning, ready to go outside for a brisk jog before going to rehearse the setlist with the rest of the band. He was even ready to make himself one of those dumb health smoothies Even had brought along instead of buying donuts from a bakery across the street. 

But he couldn’t actually make himself get up. There was that heaviness in his bones again, anchoring him down to his mattress. He tried to convince himself to get up but he became so overwhelmed with the idea of completing such a menial task, he got stressed out and just closed his eyes again.

But Even doesn’t need to know that. Even’s taken off two weeks of work to travel around with him, just because Isak asked him to, and Isak shouldn’t be so lazy and boring about it. 

He’s just tired, that’s all.

He pushes himself off of the bed and yawns as he stretches out. “I like to sleep all day and party all night.”

“Are you rehearsing with the band before the show? If you’re not, we could go for a run?”

“I’d rather die.”

Even rolls his eyes and slips a tee-shirt over his head, concealing his perfect, perfect abs. “Let’s go sight-seeing at least. I’ve always wanted to see the Space Needle.”

Isak sticks his head out from the bathroom door. “No you haven’t. You just read about it in some article yesterday, didn’t you?”

Even has the audacity to look offended. “Hey! Maybe I’ve always wanted to go to Seattle and I’ve just never told you. There are plenty of things I don’t tell you, you know.”

Isak still looks at him dubiously. “So you’ll tell me about the weird mole on your ass but you won’t tell me you’ve always wanted to see the Space Noodle in Seattle?”

“Space Needle. And I thought we weren’t going to talk about that anymore!”

 

III.

 

The shows in Seattle, San Francisco, and Los Angeles have a little more energy than the Boise crowd. The lights are definitely brighter and the faces seem hungrier, as if the bodies are cloaked in darkness and all Isak can see are rows and rows of white pointy teeth ready to rip him apart.

His brain stopped making sense a few weeks ago, back in Hartford, Connecticut. That was right around the time the album had come out and he had been trying to feel excited about getting to release his own music that he had written. Not the record label, not the producers telling him which pronouns he can and can’t use. Ever since then, he had been in that weird moody state that Jonas was trying to call  _ boredom _ . 

He can’t get offstage fast enough and he feels like proper shit afterwards. He’s sure that somewhere in a few of his own songs he messed up the words and he knows he was flat during the finale encore. Those hungry faces with hidden bodies had paid so much money to see him and he had given them a shit performance.

Even was waiting for him backstage as usual, beaming at him like he’d hung up the moon. “You did great tonight!”

There’s a certain way Even looks at him, differently than he looks at the rest of their friends or even his own family members. His eyes widen and his smiles stretches even further across his face, and Isak’s dubbed it the special  _ Isak smile _ .

Not that he’d ever tell Even that. There are some things about your childhood best friend that you don’t necessarily have to tell them about - it’s written somewhere in the rules of childhood best friendship.  

Isak goes to wipe the sweat from his forehead, but realizes the bottom of his shirt is already soaked. That weird feeling came back with a vengeance during his set and he didn’t realize how much he had been sweating. 

“Are you bored?”

Even blinks, taken aback by the strange question. “What?”

“Of coming to the show every night, I mean.” Isak tries to explain himself, tries to distract his spiraling mind from the fact that his armpits might have soaked through his shirt as well. “You always sit in the same place every time and have to hear the same songs over and over and over again. You can do something else, if you want. If you’d rather, I mean. I don’t want you to be bored.”

Even looks at him like he’s started speaking a foreign language. For all Isak knows, he’s speaking gibberish. His brain’s stopped making sense even to him back in Chicago, right around the time he called and pleaded for his childhood best friend to join him on tour.

“Something else?”

“Yeah, like during the show or whatever.” Isak says, even though that’s the last thing he wants Even to do. He had called him back in Chicago when he realized he couldn’t possibly survive the rest of the tour alone with the dreams and demons running through his head. He wanted to hear Even’s voice outside of a Skype video chat and see that special  _ Isak smile  _ in person. “Just so you’re not bored.”

“I love watching you sing. That’s where I’m here for, right? I would never get bored of watching you.” Even looks at him a bit more carefully this time, his bright, bright blue eyes searching into Isak’s soul. “Are you okay, Isak?”

_ Does the world normally spin when I’m not drunk? Why is everything so much louder, how can you even hear me without shouting? How can the beating of my heart possibly sound like an oncoming train at Grand Central Station? _

“I’m fine.” Of course, he says. Even took off  _ two _ weeks of work to come see him. Even has his own problems to deal with. Isak just needs to stop being dramatic. “Want to get wasted?”

 

IV.

 

The bars in Los Angeles are more flashy, more colorful than he’s used to. The drinks are sweeter, filled with more ice than actual alcohol. Isak keeps waving to the bartender to keep bringing them over, his lips getting looser and looser with each glass he drowns himself in.

“So if Taylor Swift can sing about men, why can’t I sing about men?” Isak complains, swirling his straw around in his Vodka tonic. “If she can have men in her music videos, why can’t I?”

“I thought you already won this battle with your record label?”

“You can only win so many battles before you realize you’ve wasted all your resources for the war.”

Even’s still looking at him with that concerned, worried look in his bright, bright blue eyes that doesn’t match the intensity and the flare of the bar they’re in. “Isak -”

“Do they have to be so loud?”

Even frowns. “What? What are you talking about?”

“That couple over there.” Isak nods his head in their direction, a relatively young man cupping the face of a young woman. They’ve both got clear skin and bright eyes only locked on each other, smiles wide enough to see from space. “They don’t have to be so gross about it. We get it - they’re in love.”

It’s hard not to look at them. 

The way that she looks at him like he’s the only man in the universe, and that if the world were burning down in flames around them, it’d be fine. The way they’re so comfortable staring at each other like that, in such a public and invasive space. They’re not even saying anything to each other, or even speaking at all, but they’re just so  _ loud _ .

“You know one day, they’re going to realize that this is all for nothing. How one day they’re not going to look at each other like that or hold each other like that anymore. They’ll barely look at each other, barely look after each other. It’s so frivolous, that feeling.”

“You mean love?”

“I mean the  _ idea _ of loving something. You love it so much that after awhile you love it too much. You fight too much for it, too passionately - and then it just dies out.”

“If you love something, then you can never be  _ too _ passionate about it.” Even counters. He’s only had a couple drinks and doesn’t look nearly inebriated enough, in Isak’s opinion. It reminds him of the time on Even’s eighteenth birthday, when they both thought it would be a great idea to take eighteen shots before a party. And while Isak had nearly passed out after  _ three _ shots, Even was just laughing and giving him that  _ Isak smile,  _ before taking the bottle of tequila away from him. “Even when it’s hard to love something and when life and circumstances get in the way, if you truly love it, you’ll never stop fighting for it.”

_ Then why am I always so tired? Why does it feel like a monumental effort to get out of bed in the mornings, to perform songs that I’ve finally fucking written? Why do I wish I could walk down into the bottom of the ocean and just stay there forever? _

He should say these words to Even, his childhood best friend. The one who knows him the best and has always been there to hear the weird thoughts and words running around in Isak’s brain. The one who used to build castles out of mud with him and run around in the sprinklers during hot summer afternoons in July. The one who poured his heart out to Isak after he had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, after he had experienced his first manic and depressive episodes.

_ The one who dropped everything the moment Isak so much as asked him to come on tour with him.  _

But he just swirls his straw around and around in his drink, smiling to himself despite the emptiness filling his mind. Memories are memories for a reason and some things are better left unsaid. It’s written somewhere in the rules of childhood best friendship, that when your best friend comes to support you on your headlining U.S tour, you show them a fucking incredible time in each city and ignore the  _ boredom  _ and  _ exhaustion  _ trying to take over your body.

Before he can stop himself, he hears himself saying, “Do you think it’s possible to fall in love a million times? Or would it be better to fall in love with one perfect person?”

“Well, no one’s one perfect -”

“But that’s not the question. Would you rather fall in love with making movies and drawing and astronomy and chemistry and labs and math and anything else your heart desires? Or would you rather fall in love with making movies? And lose everything else?”

“Oh, but that’s a different question entirely. People and careers are two completely different things.”

Isak shrugs, beckoning the bartender for another drink. His credit card statement the next month is going to be a nightmare. “Eh, po-tay-to, po-tah-to. It’s the same feeling, isn’t it? You love your favorite purple pen, you love your husband. It’s all ‘love’ in the end.”

“I feel like love isn’t quite so simple as that.”

“Ah, of course you’d say that.” Isak chuckles drily. “You’re the hopeless romantic who’d wait outside his prom date’s bedroom window, with a stereo on his shoulder blasting 80s music.”

“ _ Hey _ ! That was a great move!” Even laughs, throwing his head back. It seems like he attracts the attention of everyone around them, and Isak just wants to wrap his arms around his friend and say,  _ fuck off. He’s mine. _

Instead, he hunches even further into himself and drinks the rest of his Vodka tonic in one sip. This is the perfect point of buzzed where the haunting emptiness is starting to leave his body and be replaced with false courage and hope. 

“I’d fall in love with one perfect person. One perfect passion. That’s your question, isn’t it?” Even says after a while, startling Isak a little. He’d almost forgotten what they had been talking about, but Even looks as thoughtful as ever. 

_ Be careful,  _ Isak wants to warn him darkly,  _ You’re going to grow bored of it.  _

But the bartender finally comes back with another drink for him without Isak even having to ask and he’s getting too buzzed for this conversation. He wants to take tequila shots with Even before his last U.S show tomorrow and before Even has to go back home. He’s supposed to be showing Even a fucking incredible time so he’ll have stories to take back to  _ his _ work friends, the ones who know him as this special enigma - the guy who knows Isak Valtersen and gets into cool parties.

“What would you choose?” Even asks him, bringing him back down from the stars. At least he’s on his third beer by now.

Isak’s eyes travel back towards the overly affectionate couple, who still have their arms wrapped around each other and that fairytale aura surrounding them. The couple who will eventually feel this heaviness in their bones and empty weights in their hearts when they look at each other, how one day those three special words that are so easy to say  _ now _ will become foreign on the tips of their tongues.

He’s still looking at them when he says, “Isn’t it obvious?”

 

V.

 

The next morning, Isak wakes up with a wicked, pounding headache and a sharp tugging at his side.

It’s dreary outside of his window and he can see the rain beginning to fall from the grey clouds. His covers are bundled up by his feet and even though it hurts like hell to move, he lifts them up over his body and cocoons himself in the warmth. 

It’s July in Nevada and it’s anything  _ but _ cold outside, but his skin feels like ice and his mind feels like a blank piece of paper. He should get up and grab a glass of water, but he should also take a shower and a Tylenol. Neither of which option sounds like something he’s interested in.    
He’s vaguely aware that he’s on his tour bus, alone - which he shouldn’t be.

There’s that sharp, tugging pain in his side again and he’s beginning to wonder where Even is. The memories of last night are hazy and he just remembers pounding tequila shot after tequila shot, hoping to get the image of  _ that couple _ burned out of his mind forever. He remembers Even’s bright, bright blue eyes looking fondly at him, much clearer than they ever were on Skype, and his laugh, much more delightful than it ever could be over the phone.

He should figure out where Even is.

But when Isak rolls over on his side, he sees a small piece of paper - the corner of which had been sticking into his side - and Even’s loopy, cursive but not quite cursive handwriting.

_ Isak, _

_ You are my one perfect person.  _


	2. unconditionally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every night, there’s a different energy in the crowd reacting to the setlist. Different faces, different items thrown at him on the stage, different venue rules. He’s playing new and different songs, he’s hearing new and different reactions to the songs - and tonight, he’s finally feeling different.
> 
> Although, it’s not quite a feeling he embraces.
> 
> It’s this fluttering of his heart he gets whenever he looks up to the top right corner of the Mezzanine and sees those bright, bright blue eyes in the middle of the dark. It’s this overwhelming anxiousness when he suddenly wonders about his baby hairs that don’t fall on his scalp quite right, if Even sees them as glaringly as he does. Does he think the sweat stains under my shirt are gross? Am I moving awkwardly when I dance - oh my God, do I always look like this, why did no one ever tell me I’m a living, breathing, walking noodle?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellloooo! thank you all for being so patient and for all of your amazing feedback/reactions to the last chapter!!! i will respond to them as soon as i can, i truly wasn't expecting so much kindness <3 thank you all also for being so patient with the uncertain possibility of a second chapter. i work 2-3 jobs on any given day and babysit for a bunch of monster children so i would've had this up sooner, but alas. enjoy your youth while you have it kfjdhfjhk
> 
> i thought about splitting this chapter into two parts, bc there’s a bit of a dramatic break but i knew if i made this into a three parter, it would take me FOREVER to write the final part. and i couldn’t do that to u guys. esp after you realize what i’m talking about.
> 
> hope you like it x

“ _And_?”

Isak’s tempted to pull the phone away from his ear, baffled at the word that came out of his friend’s mouth. “What do you mean ... _and_ ? I just told you that I think _Even_ , my best friend since we were children, is in love with _me_.”

“ _Again_ ,” Jonas says before pausing for a dramatic effect. Isak thinks he can hear Jonas chewing an apple in the background, “ _and_?”

“What are you not understanding about this?”

 _“What are_ _you_ _not understanding about this? Isak, Even’s been in love with you for … forever, I guess. This isn’t brand new information here.”_

“What do you mean _forever_? He literally just told me last night, I found this note in my bed when I woke up - wait, has he said anything to you?”

_“You’re a bit blind, Isak. You should see the way he looks at you when you’re singing or talking about all that science crap. Or how fondly he talks about you to all of his friends - even to us when you’re in the kitchen getting a cup of water or whatever. If that’s not love, then Even’s on some sort of drugs I need to get my hands on.”_

Just a couple days ago, Isak didn’t even have enough energy to get out of bed to go and eat breakfast, but now he’s wired enough to run a marathon. Two marathons, three marathons - anything to make his heart start beating normally again. All he can hear are the sounds of his own thoughts running and racing through his head, convincing himself that he needs to wake up and come back to reality.

“I just turned twenty barely a month ago, how are we supposed to know _this young_ that we’re going to be together forever, I mean what if we ruin things and mess it up by getting together this young because we’re both so inexperienced and we might really have no idea what we’re doing with our lives or with each other but if we had just waited like five or so years when we kind of have a better grip on who we are, would it even make a difference, would we even really know what we’re doing, but -”

_“Jesus, Isak, calm down a minute and breathe - he’s not asking for your hand in marriage. He’s just letting you know how he feels. Nothing to freak out over.”_

Isak pauses, the circuits in his brain fried. He’s still a bit hungover from the previous night, still a bit sleep-deprived from the previous cities and timezones of his tour, still a bit anxious for his last U.S show tonight. There is so _much_ to freak out over. “What?”

_“If you feel the same way - which I know you do because you’re already talking about being together forever - just give things a go. Just focus on what you can do right now.”_

“But,” Isak stammers out, folding the piece of paper in between his fingers. “But what if things end horribly? And we never speak again?”

“ _You wouldn’t intentionally try to hurt each other if it wasn’t working out. And I can’t believe there would ever be a scenario where this wouldn’t work out and you two never speak again. I’m just saying, don’t psych yourself out of something good before it has the chance to happen.”_

Well.

Isak supposes that makes some sort of sense.

At least, if he felt that he could be remotely capable of love. Even doesn’t deserve someone who can’t even feel love for the one thing he thought he’d never grow _bored_ of.

_“But if you’re not ready for a relationship, then just tell him and I’m sure he’ll understand.”_

Isak’s stomach twists into knots. “Are you sure?”

_“Positive. Anyways, where is Even? Is he not on the bus with you?”_

Isak sighs and slumps back into his bed. “He goes running every morning. He should be back any minute.”

_“Ah, good luck. Stop freaking out about it, you’ll be fine.”_

“Great advice.”

_“I should be your personal therapist. I’m gonna start charging you $300 an hour every time I call you and find out your crisis could be fixed by sex.”_

“ _B_ _ye_ Jonas.”

Even doesn’t come back for another hour, when it’s close to midday. By that time, Isak’s already gotten out of bed and taken a shower, preparing his mental script for what he’d say to Even when he got back.

“Hey there.” Even says with a charming, half-smile as he climbs into the bus. He brushes breezily past Isak, his skin glistening from a light layer of sweat. “You’re finally out of bed before two in the afternoon?”

Isak blinks.

Partially because Even is stripping right in front of him - peeling off his muscle tee-shirt as if he’s in a strip club and stretching his back muscles so that they flex and dance _directly_ in the sunlight, _hey maybe this is what love feels like_ \- and partially because Even’s not following the script Isak’s meticulously prepared for the past hour.

 _Hey, Isak,_ Even was supposed to say when he came back to the bus with that smile of his and those bright, bright blue eyes. _Did you get my note?_

To which, Isak would be brave. He would stand up and respond, giving him a half-smile back, _I did. But it’s all so sudden, don’t you think? I finish the tour tonight and then next week, there’s the European radio show tour, and then the week after I have to perform at a couple festivals in Asia before filming the music video with Sigrid. It’ll be at least a month before I’m home. Don’t you think we should wait a minute before we talk about this?_

But Isak doesn’t get a chance to say this. His mouth moves before his brain can process Even is going completely off-book, “Hey, I get out of bed before two in the afternoon, like, all the time.”

“Yeah and I’m Britney Spears.”

Maturely, Isak sticks his tongue out at him. “Well, you used to be a lot prettier.”

Even throws his head back and laughs. He’s so extra about everything he does, the simple act of laughing becoming the very reason Isak’s heart stops beating regularly. _Hey, maybe this is what love feels like -_

Isak shakes the thought out of his head again. The last time he confused lust with love for a close friend of his, the damage he’d caused had serious repercussions that he still couldn’t forgive himself for. And _he_ was supposed to be convincing Even this was a bad idea.

“Wanna hear the funniest thing that happened to me this morning? I was looking in this thrift shop for a nice gift to give you for your last show date tonight, when these two girls come up to me breathless and asking, _Omigod are you friends with Isak Valtersen!? We love him!_ ” Even jumps into the story, imitating the high-pitched girly voices. “I told them _you_ were the lucky one to be friends with _me_ but the joke kind of flew over their heads. Then they gave me these two passes for that roller coaster that goes around the hotel - you know which one I’m talking about?”

Even is going so severely off-script here, that it’s taking Isak awhile to catch up in their conversation. “Uh, yeah. The Big Apple Coaster?”

“That one! They gave _us_ their passes. I told them they should keep them because you and I can get our own, but apparently it’s this insane virtual reality tour around Las Vegas attractions - I think? The girls were so excited that they were barely able to speak - and we wouldn’t be able to get same-day tickets, so ta-da! Here’s my ‘happy last day of tour!’ gift to you, Isak.”

Even presents him with two flashy tickets and a bright, flashy smile - that _Isak smile_.

He was _supposed_ to say, _Hey Isak, did you get my note?_ Or _Hey Isak, I want to talk about that note I left on your bed this morning - I was drunk and I wasn’t really thinking straight._

The latter, to which Isak would respond, _Hey, it’s no big deal! I get it, we were wasted,_ before acting like it never happened. He had it perfectly planned out - except for the part where _Even_ was the one acting like it never happened.

Isak gives him a small smile and says weakly. “Wow. I didn’t even get you anything.”

“No need.” Even smiles again and he’s _got_ to stop doing that before Isak does something crazy, like kisses him.

 _Childhood best friends can think about kissing each other and it’s totally fine, it doesn’t mean anything, that’s written_ _somewhere_ _in the rules of childhood best friendship._

“You invited me on this special tour with you. That’s more than I could ever ask for.”

Isak’s dumbfounded. Speechless. Opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, gulping for air. “But -”

“I know I never really said thank you, but I guess I just hoped you knew how I much appreciate this - how much I appreciate _you_. You truly are the best friend ever.” Even winks at him before turning and heading into the bathroom. “Let me take a shower and I’ll be ready to head out. We’ll make it back in plenty of time before your soundcheck, don’t worry.”

Isak’s dumbfounded.

Speechless.

Opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, gulping for air.

There’s this weird pounding in his head that could be the result of a hangover, this weird gnawing feeling growing in his heart.

_Did he just get friend-zoned?_

 

II.

 

Every night, there’s a different energy in the crowd reacting to the setlist. Different faces, different items thrown at him on the stage, different venue rules. He’s playing new and different songs, he’s hearing new and different reactions to the songs - and tonight, he’s finally feeling different.

Although, it’s not quite a feeling he embraces.

It’s this fluttering of his heart he gets whenever he looks up to the top right corner of the Mezzanine and sees those bright, bright blue eyes in the middle of the dark. It’s this overwhelming anxiousness when he suddenly wonders about his baby hairs that don’t fall on his scalp quite right, if Even sees them as glaringly as he does. _Does he think the sweat stains under my shirt are gross? Am I moving awkwardly when I dance - oh my God, do I_ _always_ _look like this, why did no one ever tell me I’m a living, breathing, walking_ _noodle_ _?!_

The energy of the crowd and the screams of his fans shouting his name keep him from running off the stage and trying to fix his hair in the bathroom. He gets through most of his setlist without wanting to cover his sweaty face with his guitar and up to the finale encore before he feels this bubbling burst of excitement explode in his chest. Like one of those bath bombs his old roommate, Eskild, showed him one time on Youtube, that burst suddenly into vibrant and rich colors, the waves of the water spreading them out through the tub.  

Even’s beaming _Isak smile_ from the top right corner of the Mezzanine makes him feel like he’s exploding in clouds of color, bright and rosy pink, light and gentle lavender, deep and royal blue. Makes him feel invincible, for once. Like he’s the next Madonna or Paul McCartney, someone worth screaming over.

“You did great tonight!” Even says for the millionth - and last - time once Isak comes offstage.

Isak grins, wiping the sweat off of his forehead with the lower part of his tee-shirt. “Can’t believe it’s all over, huh? Want to get wasted in the most notorious city in the States?”

_Call me your one perfect person again. Call me your one perfect person again. Call me your one perfect person again._

 

III.

 

Much to his monumental disappointment, Even seems to have no recollection of their night in Los Angeles.

They drink themselves into a stupor with the rest of Isak’s band for once, shots of tequila painting Isak’s hazy memory. He’s sure they danced and danced - that’s why he has callouses under his feet - and sang karaoke to a crowded, drunken bar in Las Vegas. He’s sure Even took a ton of pictures of him, of the two of them, of the band, of the drinks and maybe posted them to Instagram ( _at least, it would finally give him something to rave about to his friends outside of Isak)_.

But he’s also sure Even didn’t say a single thing about the note he left in his bed.

When they’re at the airport, sitting side by side at the gate, Isak tries to justify Even’s mysterious actions to himself. _He’s the one who didn’t even want a relationship because he’d be so busy in the upcoming month - he should be ecstatic about this. Maybe he called Isak his perfect person to make him feel better because he could obviously tell Isak had been in a slump - and the fact that he distinctly wrote ‘one perfect person’ didn’t really mean anything. Childhood best friends can call each other their one perfect person and it not mean anything romantically. It’s written_ _somewhere_ _in the rules of childhood best friendship._

“You’re awfully quiet.”

Isak blinks, coming out of his trance. “Hm?”

“Are you sad the tour’s over?” Even asks. He’s unsurprisingly very insightful towards Isak’s inner emotions, spot-on guessing why Isak’s feeling particularly blue that day.

But not for the reasons he may think. Sure, he’ll miss singing to sold-out crowds and seeing the faces of his fans in person instead of behind Twitter icons and computer screens. He’ll miss the rush of adrenaline that pumps through his blood when he jumps onto the stage, singing the first chords of his favorite song off the new album.

But he’s gonna miss _this_ more. Talking to Even late at night when they don’t go to bars after a show and when they’re staring up at the same stars in the sky. Going for coffee in the morning and their sleepy, hazy conversations about the world or about absolutely nothing at all. His physical presence next to Isak in moments like these, when he’s feeling a bit blue or a bit out of sorts.

“The tour’s not really over.” Isak says, because he’s self-destructive sometimes and doesn’t want Even to worry about him. “There’s the radio shows next week. The concert festivals after that.”

_It’s just you and me, that’s over._

Even shrugs and puts his phone back in his pocket, sliding down in his chair. “I’ll miss it. I kind of like fucking around with you all over the States and having an excuse to procrastinate on my script. And you, of course, I’ll miss the most.”

If it wouldn’t be considered _unconventional_ or _concerning_ , Isak would punch himself right then and there in the face. It’s so easy to say three stupid words and he’s said them so many times before, but now they feel so foreign - even running through his mind - that the thought of saying them out loud is as preposterous as doing jumping jacks in the middle of their gate.

“What are you working on now?” Isak asks, changing the subject because he’s self-destructive like that and his mind doesn’t work as fast as his mouth sometimes.

Even launches into the full details of this _idea_ he has that he’s having hard translating into film language. He’s got this mental image of this sleek, black, high-rise building over the busy, blue-tinted streets of New York City and this grey-suited office executive looking down from the fortieth floor. He’s got a cup of coffee in his hands and a blue tie choking his neck but he won’t adjust it - he’s got an appearance to maintain.

He’s this important office executive - very high-up in the business, visually symbolized by how high up off the ground he is - and he’s got meeting papers all over his desk, a million tabs open on his computer, and a lot of dollars in his bank account. He’s this clean-shaven dude, with tanned brown skin and dark, secretive eyes. He could have all he ever wanted with a snap of his fingers - the kind of guy who looks like he can have anyone he wants in his bed that night.

But he’s brooding. He’s brooding over the city’s beautiful skyline and the frown lines on his face, the tight pressed line of his mouth don’t soften until his assistant walks in.

This overworked, exhausted, low on funds graduate student whose suit doesn’t quite fit him and his loafers are a little too scuffed at the bottom. The student with these dreamy eyes and perfectly curly hair named Darius, who always knows when this important office executive needs more coffee or needs to be reminded to take his lunch break.

“This is the opening of the film,” Even explains with a heavy sigh. His bright, bright blue eyes are troubled, though, and his arms are folded over his chest, his back hunched in his seat. “And then there’d eventually be a scene where they’re drunk after a night out, overlooking this beautiful city skyline - you know what I’m talking about right? You’ve seen it?”

Isak nods mutely, too absorbed in Even’s words to say anything.

“They’re just talking about the view and how beautiful it is. The important office executive realizes how it’s the little things that are beautiful, how it’s this Darius guy that is the missing puzzle piece he needs to make his life this intricate painting that he’s always wanted.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever seen a piece of art that’s made you just stop and stare? Maybe in a museum or even a mural outside of a shop? Like it just changed your whole fucking life?”

Isak’s seen plenty of paintings and sculptures in his lifetime, some that have even inspired him to write songs that never quite made it into the studio. He’s not sure they _changed_ his life, though.

“Sure.”

Even gives him a look.

“Okay, maybe not but just keep talking.”

“Well, it’s this painting this important office executive sees -”

“Does he have a name?”

“Eh, not yet. I can’t think of a name that fits, you know?”

“So how did Darius come about?”

“I don’t know. Knew some kid named Darius once upon a time and the name just sounds pretty. Rolls musically right off the tongue. No?”

“No, it does. Keep going, keep going - we’re going to have board soon.”

“Isak, we’re getting on the same flight.”

“But you’re on a roll right now - don’t lose the mojo.”

Even chuckles but obliges and continues his idea. “So it’s this painting this important office executive sees once in his childhood that he can’t get over. It’s called _Manhattan Under the Moonlight_ , a dark, beautiful, enchanting oil painting of shadows of tall skyscrapers in a line, that seem to float over the river. There are two faces in the river, too, but you can’t quite make them out. You can’t really tell if they’re smiling because they’re just mysterious faces in the river with the silver moon shining over them. So it’s this painting that the important office executive makes into his life vision - he’s gonna get a job in one of those Manhattan skyscrapers and he’s gonna hold hands with someone under the moonlight. That’s the missing part of the painting he needs to complete.”

Even just sighs again and runs his fingers through his fluffy, sun-kissed hair. “But it’s not fucking coming together. I can’t make the characters get from point A to point B and it’s driving me crazy. So in all honesty, you saved me these past couple of weeks. Gave me a reprieve from this project that’s tearing apart my soul.”

He turns to look at Isak, who’s just gaping at him with an open mouth and wide, wide eyes.

“You okay?”

 _Is it possible to lust over someone’s mind? This is nothing but lust, this is nothing but lust, but oh God, your mind. The universes inside your mind. This is just what_ _lust_ _feels like, this is what_ _lust_ _feels like - and you need to snap out of it._

Isak blinks and coughs, startled when the gate attendant announces loudly over the intercom that it’s time to start boarding. “Can’t I just give you the Oscar already?”

 

IV.

 

The weeks without Even pass slowly.

The radio shows aren’t strenuous or that much to lose his mind over. He does promo interviews with reputable radio show hosts, laughs when he’s supposed to, sings when he’s supposed to.

On more than one occasion, he’s asked about his dream guy.

“I suppose I’ve never really thought about that.” Isak often muses over the microphone.

_He’s got fluffy-blond hair and the kind of bright blue eyes that sparkle like swimming pools in the sunlight. His hands are soft and warm, long fingers that are perfect for playing the piano or writing scripts all day. He’s tall and lanky and his arms could hold me all night long, like a home. His voice is this soft melody against a quiet instrumental track and his words are that powerful to distract me from the background noise. He thinks he’s fucking James Dean and walks around with black sunglasses, a cigarette between his lips, and skinny jeans. His clothes smell like his overbearing Axe cologne._

“I guess he would be tall?”

 

V.

 

The weeks without Even pass quietly.

It rains on the first night of his festival tour, so he stays in his hotel room in a plush white bathrobe with a glass of Rosé pressed to his lips. Mahdi always said Rosé was a girly drink but it was Isak’s absolute favorite and when you’re alone, you can indulge yourself in these kinds of things.

He watches a romance movie that Vilde would probably love and coo at, the rain pattering against the floor-to-ceiling length windows. He keeps the curtains open, the orange room light illuminating the navy-colored sky outside.

If he were here, Even would be critiquing the cinematography and the transitions. He was incredible at writing, but even more incredible at transforming words into moving images and stage directions and color. Especially when they were kids, Even would always be the one taking pictures of nature and creating narratives out of the way the sunlight shone through the trees while Isak would be running around, throwing sticks at innocent birds.

He had Skyped with Even earlier that day, while the latter was actually at work, just to get the feeling of loneliness out of his mind. Talking with Jonas or Magnus and Mahdi or Sana just wasn’t the same as talking to Even about absolutely nothing at all.

 _“I miss you.” Even had smiled into his computer camera, that special beaming_ _Isak smile_ _. “I bet you’re having loads of fun right now. Did you actually get a chance to meet Troye Sivan?”_

_“Nah, he was running into the interview right after me. He’s cool, though. Like all skin and bones.”_

_“I bet he’d be a legend to party with.”_

_“I feel like he’s more of a wine mum.”_

_“You should still make a song together with him. Can I be his love interest in the music video?”_

And that’s where Isak realized he needed to end the conversation before Even could see the ugly green monster come over his face. Jealousy was never an attractive look - and it was an even uglier look when it was over someone who was never yours.

He had half a mind to just cancel the rest of his upcoming shows and _sleep_ in his own bed at home, but his agent laughed in his face when Isak even implied that he wanted to take a break. Isak wouldn’t be going home for a long time.

He was back in his prime again, feeling light-hearted and excited to play his music when he appeared on stage. His set seemed to last only seconds, instead of the dreadful hours it felt like back in the States. So in this way - it was a good thing that he was friend-zoned. That he and Even were on the same page about their friendship. They were in two completely different places in their lives and starting a relationship would be the worst, possible idea for the both of them.

(But, still.)

(No one had to know if Isak secretly dreamed at night of Even’s bright, bright blue eyes and Even’s beaming _Isak smile_ and Even’s melodic voice whispering, _Dear, Isak. You are my one perfect person_. over and over again every night.)

 

VI.

 

The weeks without Even pass like an eternity.

By the time Isak and Sigrid have finished the music video and teased their fans on Twitter about it, Isak feels like it’s been years since he’s seen Even. He’s worried he’s forgotten the way the other man looks, if his hair is actually as fluffy as Isak’s romanticized it in his dreams. If his fingers really are smooth and long, holding the touch of heaven.

He’s been missing Even so much he’s even started thinking about his _fingers_.

But it’s not love - no, it’s nothing like that. It’s a passionate fondness for his best friend, who dropped two weeks off work to follow Isak around on tour. It’s something close to lust, but something he would never act upon because the last time he confused lust with love was the last time he spoke to Eva Kviig-Mohn.

He can hardly stop bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet as he gets off the plane in Oslo. He’s missed home and the feeling of being home that he barely remembers to collect his suitcase from baggage claim before hailing the first taxi he sees out of the airport.

Jonas comes over first, wanting to pick-up the collection of shot glasses from the States that Isak promised him. His green eyes are wide with excitement. “Nice, Isak! Did you get any weed?”

“Couldn’t travel with it. If I got caught with it, it would delay the radio tour and my manager would murder me.”

“Eh, I’ll stop by Mahdi’s later. Tell me everything about your time abroad.”

So they sit on Isak’s couch, playing video games as Isak tells him all about London and Paris, where the first round of radio shows took place, before he could do some promo in Eastern Europe. He tells him how dreamy Asia was, even though he wasn’t expecting to be bombarded at the airports. Sigrid was also one of the coolest people he’d ever met and wanted to get drinks with him at the karaoke bar sometime.  
He tells Jonas all this, a bit distracted. His mind was divided between the video game and his everlasting thoughts of Even, Even, Even.

“So whatever happened with that whole Even thing?” Jonas asks before he’s ready to leave. Isak’s too excited to think much of his suddenly concerned expression, too busy trying to keep from bouncing on the balls of his feet again. He’d just gotten a text that Even was off of work and wanted to see him.

“Oh. Well, it’s kind of funny, actually. I was prepared to have a speech ready that would be like ‘I just don’t think we’re ready for a relationship, you know?’ when the bloody bastard friend-zoned _me_.” Isak laughs a little at the end, a little genuine, a little forced. “Crazy, right?”

“Oh.” Jonas says, with a confused chuckle.

“Yeah I mean we’ve been apart for the better part of a month and it’s not like either of our schedules are slowing down anytime soon. So, it would’ve just been too complicated.” Isak leaves out the part where his thoughts had started to become consumed by Even and only Even. Where he was starting to see Even’s face in strangers passing by, hearing his voice when he was in the shower and could have pretend conversations with him, feeling the ghost of his touch whenever the moonlight hit his pillow at night.

“Well, that’s good.” Jonas says as they walk towards the door. Isak’s too busy focusing on controlling his rapidly-beating heart to notice Jonas’s look of relief wash across his face.

_Even, Even, Even._

“So when did _you_ find out he was dating Sonja again? Because that shit took us all by surprise - we really thought you two were going to pull through and become the next ‘Hollywood’ It-Couple or whatever.”

A sudden silence falls over them, only broken by the deafening echo of Isak’s keys dropping to the cold, tiled floor.

 

* * *

 

_Oh no, did I get too close_

_Oh, did I almost see what's really on the inside?_

_All your insecurities_

_All the dirty laundry_

_Never made me blink one time_

  


To: Even

31 July (19:34)

_Hey, can’t come over tonight. I think I came down with a cold._

 

From: Even

31 July (19:36)

_What???? No :( Want me to bring some soup over to your place?_

 

**Missed call from Even (20:30)**

 

31 July (20:54)

_Isak? You good?_

 

To: Even

1 August (11:49)

_Sorry. Fell asleep last night. Thanks though_

  


From: Even

1 August (12:01)

_Are you sure? I can come swing by your place after work._

_With soup and ginger ale_

 

To: Even

1 August (15:06)

_It’s cool, don’t worry. I’m pretty contagious and I wouldn’t wanna get you sick or anything, too._

 

From: Even

1 August (15:19)

_If you’re sure :(_

_When’s the next time I can see you?_

 

 **Missed call from Even** ( **2 August, 14:15)**

 

3 August (14:19)

_Feeling better yet? I can come by after work and see you?_

 

**Missed call from Even (3 August, 10:30)**

 

4 August (18:13)

_When are you leaving? I miss you._

 

VII.

 

Realistically, he can’t avoid Even forever.

Oslo is a small city and Isak’s not due out of the country for at least another three weeks. For the first time in forever, he _misses_ touring. He misses the adrenaline pumping through his veins when he jumps on stage and starts to hear the beginning chords of his music play. He misses writing and spending time in the studio. He misses designing the visual experiences of his tour and picking out sets and costume pieces, working with the rest of the band to create an amazing show.

If he ever decides to leave his house again, he has to go grocery shopping. He has to see his other friends - who also happen to be Even’s friends. He has to meet with his agent, who lives near Even’s neighborhood. He has to see his parents, who are close family friends with Even’s parents, and no doubt will ask why Isak has been avoiding Even’s messages.

He _needs_ to get over himself, this petty, petty reason for being so … distraught.

 _He_ was the one who was initially terrified that Even was into him as more than a best friend and had prepared a mighty speech on why they shouldn’t even think about being together right now. For him to be so upset over Even not even having feelings for him in the _first place_ and choosing to reignite the flame with his ex-lover from high school was petty, petty, petty.

Maybe their relationship had changed from back then, when he felt that she was too controlling of him and she felt that he was too dismissive of her. Maybe they had worked things out and he’d found a beautiful diamond ring for her from Hasla and he’d wanted Isak to see it before he showed her because obviously they were going to get married and have ten children and live in a big, beautiful home in -

Isak recognizes he’s overthinking this, falling into that spiraling thought of anxieties that Even had explained to him one night during Isak’s junior year, when they were ‘camping’ outside of Isak’s backyard. Even was about to graduate forever and be on his merry way into adulthood - and Isak had been worried, worried, worried that this was it and the end of their childhood best friendship because why would Even need a _kid_ running after him when he had gone on to university and this and that, and Even told him that night under the stars,

 

_“When you feel yourself starting to spiral, start doing something detail-oriented that takes your mind off of what’s bothering you. You could organize your class notes or organize the video games in your shelves alphabetically. Refocus the negative energy into something productive.”_

_Isak scoffed at the time, his hands on his stomach. His posture was completely calm, but his brain was a dark chasm of unwelcome thoughts. “Does graduating high school make everyone this much wiser?”_

_Even turns his head and grins cheekily. “Nah. Buzzfeed does, though.”_

 

So he picks up the phone to focus on a detail-oriented task and calls Even, who picks up on the first ring.

_“Isak! I’ve been trying to reach you for days. What happened?”_

“Oh, I had a really bad case of the flu. Could barely breathe or talk for a while.” Isak says in a low, husky voice, coughing a bit for emphasis.

Even’s silent for a moment. “ _In_ _August_ _?”_

“Yeah, so anyways, um how are you? It’s been a while, huh.”

 _“Yeah, about a month and a week or so.”_ Even almost sounds bitter, Isak realizes, but it disappears so quickly in his tone, he almost imagines he was dreaming it. _“I’m good, just been working on the script non-stop. I’ve, uh, actually been meaning to tell you something. You remember how Sonja went to London for university?”_

This is where the thoughts start spiraling again and Isak begins to realize the actual importance of those dumb fidget spinners everyone used to rave about. He quickly grabs a rubber band from his kitchen drawer, his fingers playing with it and making it into shapes. “Yeah, yeah. University of East London.”

_“Right. Well, she came back to Oslo last month and we ran into each other while we were at dinner with other people. We got super wasted at the bar later that night and … well, I don’t know.”_

Isak’s snaps the rubber band unconsciously, holding his phone to his ear in a death-grip. “You had sex?”

_“Oh, no, no - nothing even close to that. I just mean, I don’t know. It was good seeing her again, I guess? We had a lot of fun that night and I realized I missed that. It gets lonely around here sometimes and I miss just, at least, having her as someone in my life.”_

Isak’s heart returns to beating at a normal pace again, but the evil thoughts don’t stop spiraling. “Oh.”

_“Do you think it’s a good idea?”_

No. “Do I think what’s a good idea?”

_“Us getting back together. Is it a bad idea?”_

Yes. “I, uh, I don’t really know. Only you can feel what you feel. So only you really know the answer to this.”

Even’s quiet as he muses over this. _“Only I can feel what I feel.”_

Isak focuses on a point in the distance, a tiny speck of something on his white kitchen walls. “Yeah. If you feel like this is right, then you should act on it.”

Sometimes with Even, Isak does this thing where he self-destructs so Even doesn’t have to worry about him. He used to do it just after Even had gotten diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and Isak didn’t want him dealing with both of their monsters. But Even insisted that he didn’t want Isak treating him like he was fragile, or like a bruised child. His disorder wasn’t his identity, but a part of him. A part of him he would learn to live with.

But Isak still kept some of his secrets, choosing which cracks in his armor to reveal to Even depending on his mood that day. If Even was chipper with bright, bright eyes - then he didn’t need to be worrying about Isak’s disturbing thoughts running through his head when things were this good. If Even was talking a mile per minute, his long legs bouncing up and down rapidly - then he didn’t need to be worrying about Isak’s disturbing thoughts running through his head when things _seemed_ this good, only for the inevitable downfall to come.

And Isak would never in a million years _think_ of confiding his secrets in Even when the blond boy would be bedridden for days, his head becoming one with his satin pillows.

It became a habit of Isak to hold back on the things that plagued him and hurt him and bruised him. Like the record producer who wanted Isak to come over to his penthouse apartment after a late night recording session and dance to the songs he had recorded in the dark. Like the midnights Isak would spend curled up in his closet because Mamma and Pappa had been screaming so loud he woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep. Like the tweets that called him vile names and threatened him and his family because he simply said _all humans should never have to fear for their lives, whether they are straight, gay, Black, Hispanic, Asian - no one should ever have to fear for their life._

And this would be one of those secrets. One that Isak might write vaguely about in a song in fifty years’ time, when he’s getting wrinkly and needs to collaborate with young, hot artists to keep his relevance. Maybe in a tell-all he’ll have published when he’s cold in the casket.

He hears Even murmuring something over the phone, perhaps repeating Isak’s words over again.

_Only you can feel what you feel._

_“You always say the right thing. What would I ever do without you in my life?”_

Isak gulps, forcing himself to smile in his empty, white-walled kitchen. “Hey. What are friends for?”

 

VIII.

 

Isak knows better than to drink his sorrows away at the bar, for it only makes them come up to the surface quicker and soon he’d be spilling all of his casket secrets to people who don’t even know his middle name.

So he goes to the liquor store and purchases two six-packs of beer and takes them home to his bed. He doesn’t cry because _nowhere_ in the rules of childhood best friendship does it say you can be upset at your best friend for dating his high school ex-girlfriend, especially if you don’t have feelings for him.

_You just think you might sometimes - but it’s only because you can’t be happy with just anything. You can’t be happy with singing and performing, you can’t be happy with science, you can’t be happy with him just as your best friend. You have to learn how to grow up before you hurt someone again._

Isak watches reality TV for hours, keeping his phone on silent so he doesn’t have to hear Magnus whine _but you’re only in town for two more weeks, you_ _have_ _to come out with us._ He’ll make it up to the boys another time. But for now, he drinks three and a half beers without stopping, waiting for the exhilarating rush of alcohol to cloud his brain.

He starts to feel buzzed, enough to walk up to the mirror and inspect his reflection. Maybe if he were taller and a little less lankier, he would like the image staring back at him. But he knows he never will.

“You could have _any_ guy in the world you want.” Buzzed Isak tells Mirror Isak, frowning and shaking his head at him. “But you always want the guys you can’t have. What is wrong with you?”

Mirror Isak’s shaking his head back at him. Isak tries to ignore how absolutely dizzying this effect is and to cure it by drinking the rest of the fourth beer.

“You need to get a grip.” He tells Mirror Isak, cracking open the fifth beer.

Mirror Isak says the same thing back to him.

“Oh, fuck you!” Isak shouts back. “Fuck. You.”

Mirror Isak shouts the same thing back to him.

It’s this endless cycle of Buzzed Isak chastising Mirror Isak and Mirror Isak having the audacity to chastise Buzzed Isak back. The world is hazy and in dim colors, muted gray and neutral beige. An endless back and forth of Isak shaking his head, feeling like he’s on the roller coaster at those amusement parks that swing back and forth.

_He misses the bursts of lavish colors that exploded in his heart when he was performing on tour, when he was looking directly into Even’s eyes from the Mezzanine. This, is purely painful._

“You know what?” Isak puts his hands on his hips and scowls. Dumbass Mirror Isak does the same fucking thing. “You can just take that attitude and shove it up your -”

“Isak?”

Isak jumps out of his skin, colliding directly into Mirror Isak.

 

IX.

 

Minutes later, Even presses a cold washcloth to his face, trying to hold back his smile.

Isak had been so startled by his sudden presence in his house that he’d jumped right into his mirror - which thankfully, had enough decency not to shatter into a million pieces because it was hanging up on a wall. Isak’s head, however, had not been so lucky to withstand injuries.

“So.” Even says, once they’ve gotten the ice-pack comfortably on top of the forming purple bruise. “I thought it would be a good idea to stop by since Jonas and the others seemed concerned about you.”

Isak rolls his eyes with enough drunken bravado he can muster. “I’m clearly fine. I just didn’t want to be social tonight.”

“Ah. So that’s why you were talking to yourself in the mirror?”

Isak opens his mouth for a retort - but there’s really no intelligent thing to say to someone who’s just caught you reprimanding your own _reflection_ in the mirror with a vehement passion.

So drunkenly, he cocks his head to side and asks, “And what about it?”

Even tips his head back and laughs loudly, enough to reverberate off of Isak’s white-walled kitchen and back into his heart. “You’re one of a kind, Isak Valtersen. Truly one in a million.”

Even’s voice sounds like the piano instrumental of a lullaby and Isak is so, so, so drunk off of it. His heart and mouth move faster than his mind.

“Say it again.”

Even looks him in the eye again. “What?”

“My name.” Isak breaths out. He’s suddenly aware of how their knees are touching, how if he moves his elbow a _little_ to the left, the ghosts of their arms would be touching too. “Say my name again.”

Even chuckles softly. “Isak. Isak Valtersen.”

And it’s not enough, but how could it ever be enough? If Isak ripped off his jeans so that the skins on their knees would be touching, would it ever be enough? If Isak ripped out his own damn heart from his chest and handed it to Even on a silver platter, would it be close to enough?

“The man, the myth, the legend.”

“I’m no legend.” Isak scoffs, pointing to the purple bruise forming on his forehead.

“But you are,” Even insists. He has actual pride in his voice, as if Isak’s worthy of such a sentiment. “You’re a trailblazer. An icon of a new time. A popstar of your own making.”

“You’re making me sound like I’m actually talented.”

“Isak Valtersen, award-winning pop-star - _talented_? Who would have ever guessed such a thing?”

Even’s voice sounds like a thousand lullabies, with an infinite loop option. He’s so drunk and thinks that maybe this time, it isn’t lust. At least, not pure lust. Sure he wants Even _naked_ in front of him, but in so many more ways than just physically. He wants to see Even’s brain work more intimately, to inspect all the tiny moles that decorate his pale skin. He wants to watch Even’s back muscles flex again just as much as he wants to see his brain do the same thing.

It’s not logical, he knows. None of this is logical. How, at first, he could feel such trepidation and fear at the thought of Even possibly thinking of him in this manner too but suddenly want to climb on top of him and dance until they’re both screaming each other’s name under the covers. The dread and anxiety he used to feel when coming onto a stage to perform, but how it changed back into butterflies and fireworks and magic again.

None of this is logical but Isak’s too drunk to even care. He wants to act on this feeling To lean in, close enough to feel Even without skin contact, with half-lidded eyes and whisper, _You are my one perfect person._

But he keeps the cool ice-pack pressed against the bruise, putting more pressure on it slightly to knock himself out of this dream he’s in. He knows better than to mess with boys who have sweet girlfriends now - even when he’s wasted.

Even’s watching him with a curious glint. “I just watched a movie in your eyes.”

Isak blinks and starts to pull back, but realizes the simplest of movements makes him feel like he’s falling uncontrollably backwards. Even smiles as he steadies him - Isak hadn’t even realized he’d nearly fallen off of the chair - a sort of wistfulness and sadness hidden in the upper corners of his lips.

“Was it any good?”

“Incredible, actually. Just like you.”

Isak is so utterly wasted off of this lovely lullaby. “Are you flirting with me?”

Even laughs again but averts his eyes. “I always flirt with you. Just a little.”

Isak’s curiosity is piqued and he raises his eyebrows. Even is not nearly as drunk as he is. Even is perfectly sober.

“Always?”

“What? You’ve never noticed?”

“For three years of high school, you had a girlfriend.” Isak reminds him. Even’s hands are still on his body but he doesn’t feel steady. He feels like he’s on a seesaw that increases with speed each second.

“Three years out of the twenty two that I’ve known you - Isak, stop wobbling already you’re gonna  make yourself sick.”

 _This part can’t possibly be purely lust_ , he thinks in his head, keeping his eyes connected with Even’s. They’re bright, bright blue - the kind where he’s chipper and bright and doesn’t need to be weighed down with Isak’s irrational problems.

The questions burn the tip of his tongue, like hot lead preventing him from opening his mouth and uttering six simple words. He can hardly breathe or swallow but he smiles pleasantly as Even starts to talk about his family vacation coming up, and how excited his mom is to go to the fjords for a weekend. He laughs when he’s supposed to, but he can’t make himself speak what’s really on his mind.

_What is this? What are we?_

 

X.

 

Even said that the best way to prevent the awful spiraling thoughts from worsening into full-blown anxiety was to focus on detail-oriented tasks. To be distracted and busy enough that there’s just no time for the troubles to overwhelm him.

So he plans and plan and plans.

He plans recording time in London, where his favorite producer mentioned he’d been mixing a new track he wanted Isak to hear sometime soon. He calls his manager and plans a series of guest spots on late night television shows in London and the States. He reaches out to European and American brands who have expressed interest in him in the past to set up meetings that span over the course of a month. And then the following month is the international homecoming tour - where he’ll play all over Europe, Asia, and some select cities in Australia. And then once that’s over, he pushes for more recording time in Los Angeles, where it’s always sunny and humid.

It would be after January by the time he’d finally get back home, or have some free time to spare on his hands.

He doesn’t give himself time to say goodbye to his friends and family before he’s on the next flight out to London, his bags packed with his entire wardrobe of clothes. He gets rid of all his old video games from when he was in high school and packages all the fancy Chinaware Ikea had sent him once upon a time in a box to his mother. Getting rid of the furniture is easy - most of his friends are struggling uni students who need an extra couch here, or a new coffee table there.

His beloved flat screen TV, he gives to Sana Bakkoush, who eyes him warily.

“You’re getting rid of everything.” She notices as she walks through the empty apartment.

Isak is too busy sorting through the food he can give to a shelter and the food that needed to be thrown away to observe her tone. “Yeah, well. Thought it was time for a change.”

“Pretty drastic change. This wouldn’t have anything to do with Even and Sonja getting back together, would it?”

Isak dares to spin around and look her in the eye. “Why would it have anything to do with them?”

“I guess we all just thought you two were going to be the endgame.” Sana shrugs casually. Her face doesn’t betray that she knows anything more, but she’s always had the best poker face of all the girls. “Why are you giving me your TV anyways? I thought you would’ve given it to Mahdi or Jonas.”

The somber mood disappears when Isak looks over his shoulder with a cheeky grin. “You’re the only one that actually offered me something in exchange for it. Thanks for the Pinot Grigio.”

It’s easier not to be home, when home was filled with already explored adventures. The world is his to conquer and Isak feels ready to meet new people, see new things, be a new person. He’s still in the middle of promoting his newest album, but he has so many new ideas for the next one - the next era, the next transformation of him.

It will be good to be away from home.

 

XI.

 

In September, Isak makes a new song with Martin Garrix that they plan to debut at Coachella the next year.

He and Martin spend late nights in the studio, going out to the pub at 1 in the morning afterwards and looking for the closest ice-cream shops. They take pictures for the cover art outside of the city, among the small suburban towns. They write crappy lyrics over and over on wads of paper and throw them at each other, a makeshift version of a snowball fight when they’re both exhausted and tired. And when the lyrics aren’t crappy, when they’re beautiful enough to be formed into a story, they make a pretty damn good song together.

 

In September, Jonas, Mahdi, Magnus, Eva, Noora, Vilde, Chris, and Sana are back in classes, doing homework at McDonalds and taking lots of Instagram selfies together. Isak scrolls through them sometimes, in empty hotel rooms when he’s curled up in bed, the movie on TV watching him instead of the other way around.

_Even would be thinking about the camera angles and jump cuts, and that sort of crap. Commenting on how the visual transitions can often tell so much more of the story than the actual words._

Isak wonders how his script is coming along. He would tell Even about the rainy streets of London and how the air feels crisper in September.

He dials Even’s number quite a few times, but he never presses that green call button. Instead, he forms his own script in his head.

 

_ISAK_

_I did the most basic thing today._

 

_EVEN_

_What did you do? Take a picture in front of the red Telephone booth?_

 

_ISAK_

_Worse - in front of Platform 9¾ at King’s Cross Station._

 

_EVEN_

_(Throws his head back and laughs, beaming that special_ _Isak smile_ _)_

 _You_ _went to King’s Cross without me, after I forced you to watch all eight Harry Potter films because you_ _refused_ _to read the books?! How fake._

 

It’s better this way, communicating to fake Even through the script in his head.

This Even never goes off-book.

 

XII.

 

In October, Isak’s a guest on the Late Late Show with James Corden and a rising actor named Justice Smith.

The three of them banter off of each other easily and the audience laughs diligently, even when James’ jokes aren’t _that_ funny. Isak smiles and smiles, looks at Justice like he’s hung up all the stars in the sky because he’s just a little bit enamored by the way the other man speaks and thinks.

Soon the internet starts screenshotting this and making Isak’s blatant heart eyes their Twitter profile pictures. His Instagram feed becomes filled with manip pictures of the two of them and he’s going viral on Tumblr for the first time since he publicly came out. The whole thing is quite invasive and damaging to any possible friendship that could’ve transpired between the two artists and Isak looks down at his feet and towards the audience for the remainder of his late night television show interviews.

 

In October, Jonas has a mental breakdown on his midterm about capitalism and Mahdi is the one bringing him weed and sandwiches in the middle of the night. By the time Halloween rolls around, there are more selfies with Mahdi on Jonas’s instagram than pictures of Isak. Magnus and Vilde are hooking up again and posting pictures with the cat ear filter on Snapchat all the time. The girl squad is closer than ever - particularly Noora and Eva, which Isak is definitely not in the loop about.

 

In October, Isak uses the hotel phone to dial a number he knows by heart - hoping it’d go straight to voicemail. Luckily, he knows Even never answers unknown phone numbers.

_Hey, it’s Even. Sorry can’t make it to the phone right now. I’ll be sure to get back to you as soon as possible._

His voice sounds like a thousand lullabies, Isak thinks, wishing he had an infinite loop option. But he always puts the phone back down and curls into his hotel bed, under the covers away from the rest of the world.

 

XIII.

 

In November, Isak’s on tour again but he’s on fire this time around.

He sings his songs and strums his guitar, looking at all these beautiful faces staring back at him that he’d been terrified of back in Boise, Idaho, back in Chicago, Illinois, back in Hartford, Connecticut. They’d looked like sharks over there, waiting to devour him with their sharp and unforgiving teeth, but now he sees hope and happiness in their eyes. When the confetti that shoots from the cannons at the end of the finale, it’s like watching fireworks on a dark night in July and watching thousands of faces light up and cheer.

It would be perfect, perfect, perfect - if he didn’t look up to the top right corner of the Mezzanine every time and feel that aching, heavy sensation in his limbs again.

 

In November, Even and Sonja break up again but Isak doesn’t hear about it until he’s in Lisbon, Portugal a few weeks later.

He can’t ask Even to uproot his life again and he can’t uproot his, so this silence streak between them remains and thickens. Even Jonas hasn’t called him in the past couple of months.

It’s better this way, Isak rationalizes when he’s on the tour bus, standing under the scalding hot water in the shower. His thoughts can’t spiral, if there’s nothing for them to spiral about.

 

XIV.

 

In December, Isak celebrates Christmas with his band in a restaurant in Tokyo. They drink sake and eat ramen noodles, buying each other more sake to drink in exchange for gifts.

He calls his mother like a dutiful son and sends an email to his father.

He sends half-hearted messages to his friends, who send him half-hearted messages in return.

In his hotel room, he dials Even’s number again, waiting until the voicemail message plays back to him:

_Hey, it’s Even. Sorry can’t make it to the phone right now. I’ll be sure to get back to you as soon as possible._

 

 _Hey, it’s me,_ Isak would say if he had drunk more sake. _I’ve been thinking about you lately. I heard about you and Sonja and I’m sorry. But maybe I’m not. If she didn’t make you happy, isn’t it better you realize now instead of twenty years from now when it’s too hard to fix the damage? Anyways, I’m drunk and I miss you. Somewhere written in the rules of childhood best friendship, is a handbook that could tell me all the rights thing to say right now. I wish I knew how to fix what I’ve broken but I don’t even know what’s wrong with me. Have you ever felt like you were chasing something relentlessly, but you just didn’t know what? I feel like I’m chasing this dream I used to have. Where I was spending all my time on tour and in different cities each night, singing songs and playing my music. But now that the chase is over, it … well I don’t want it anymore. How awful is that? I miss the labs at high school. I can’t stand listening to Magnus complain about his ‘dumb’ chemistry classes - because I want to be the one in the lab coat, staring over vials of chemicals and doing equations to solve -_

 

The voicemail machine would cut him off then and there, and Even would listen to his words as dutifully as he listens to Isak’s music. He would text Isak back and they would fix this distance between, this chasm underneath a frail and crumbling bridge.

But Isak’s not drunk enough and his fear of spiraling back into _that_ place again, the dark itchy blanket that haunted him in Hartford, Connecticut, keeps him from picking up the phone.

 

XV.

 

“Isak?”

Even after months of seperation - he knows that cologne, that _voice_ from anywhere.

In February of the new year, Isak turns around in the airport to see _him_ walking up to the gate where Isak’s sitting. Even’s cut his fluffy hair a bit shorter, so that it’s neat and trimmed above his ears. He’s got on fucking skinny jeans and a white muscle tee-shirt, and all he needs is a fucking cigarette behind his ear and a pair of sunglasses to whip out as he walks in slow-motion.

Isak can barely remember how to form words. The past six months of silence feel so palpable in this moment.

“What are you doing here?” They both end up asking at the same time.

Even grins cheekily. “Jinx. You owe me a soda.”

Isak rolls his eyes. For a minute, it’s easy to banter back and forth like this. “You can buy your own carbonated drink of chemicals.”

“Oh come on, not this again.”

“Even, I’ve shown you pictures of all the chemicals they put into soda, how can you still drink it?” Isak asks incredulously. “It’s so toxic for your body.”

“But it’s so good,” Even whines like the two-year-old he is.

Isak just rolls his eyes again. “It’s so good until your teeth are rotting and your inside guts are rotting and your heart -”

“Wow, yeah, I really missed this for sure.” Even says drily, but it has its intended consequence.

It immediately shuts Isak up, who starts looking at the floor and scratching the back of his head. “I, um, uh, well I -”

“Wait, so what are you actually doing here?” Even asks before things can pass from sufficiently awkward to morbidly humiliating. “I didn’t even realize you were back home.”

Isak shrugs. “Just for a short while. Had to see Mamma. It was more of a 36 hour layover from Sweden to Los Angeles.”

Even blinks at him in surprise. “Los Angeles? That’s where you’re going?”

Isak’s about to retort, _I did_ _just_ _say that, you cheesehead,_ when he realizes why Even’s bright, bright blue eyes are suddenly twinkling and the corners of his lips are turned upwards mischievously.

“No fucking way.”

“Jesus Christ, what kind of coincidence?” Even laughs at this predicament mirthfully, almost like he hadn’t just rightfully shaded Isak for pulling a disappearing act on him for the past six months. “Don’t tell me you’re staying in Beverly Hills, too.”

Isak just gives him a look. “Did you fucking hack into my itinerary?”

“I think you hacked into mine. I’ve had this trip booked for a couple months now.”

“I’ve had this trip booked since August!” Isak protests before realizing his mistake.

Even’s eyebrows raise and a flash of hurt crosses his eyes. “Since August? You been avoiding me or something for that long?”

His tone is light and airy, but Isak knows better. He scratches the back of his head again. “I’ve been _busy_.”

Even doesn’t press him for more details. He never does.

He changes the subject breezily and slides into the seat next to where Isak had been sitting. “You have to heard about Noora and Eva by now, right? Who’d have thought they’d ever be the ones to get together?”

 

XVI.

 

“So what are you doing here in the city?” Isak asks once they’ve boarded their plane and managed to swindle two seats next to each other in the first cabin.

Even gets himself comfortable, adjusting his seat so that his monumentally long legs can stretch out in front of him. He puts a fluffy pillow behind his head and sighs in contentment.

“The script is finally finished.” Even explains before they take off. “And I’m showing it to some -”

“You finished it?!” Isak interrupts with wide eyes. “So you finally got the characters from Point A to Point B?”

“Kinda, sorta. The important office executive - his name’s gonna be Ryan Evans for now - realizes he’s hopelessly infatuated with his office assistant, Darius, close towards the climax. You remember that painting he had created his life around?”

“ _Manhattan Under the Moonlight?_ ”

“That one. He recreates the scene with Darius one night in the middle of Manhattan, where they’re holding hands under the moon in front of all the skyscrapers. And it’s a dream come true for both of them, but Darius knows better than that.”

“What?”

“He realizes their circumstances. He’s this graduate student at Columbia who’s still got years worth of student loan debt to pay off and hasn’t secured a proper position within the company. If he lets his boss Ryan act upon his feelings, he realizes Ryan risks everything. He could lose his job -”

“What the fuck? Why?”

“No fraternization in the workplace allowed.”

“That’s dumb. Why?”

“It’s just a rule in most companies, especially between superiors and their subordinates.”

When the air stewardess comes through the aisle, they both order vodka sodas and popcorn chips.

“But it’s a dumb rule,” Isak says stubbornly.

“It’s a rule nonetheless. Ryan has so much left of the world to explore and so much left in his career to accomplish. Darius can’t let him risk all of that. He knows that if you love something, you have to let it go. And it ends with both of them on opposite sides of an elevator hallway, the screen fading to black as both elevator doors close - and they’re both looking at each other wistfully.”

Isak’s already finished his vodka soda and ordered another one by the time Even’s finished explaining his movie plot. “Wait, what? That’s it?”

“Well.” Even says, ushering for another vodka soda as well. “Yeah.”

“What are you talking about? That’s - that’s - _no_. That can’t be the end.”

“Why not?”

“Darius isn’t considering how this important office executive - Ryan - feels, which is way more important at the end of the day than a stupid fucking career.”

“What are _you_ talking about?”

They’re at least 30,000 miles up in the sky by now, the city they were flying over merely dotted lights underneath the plane. They could almost see the silver stars from the window, through the willowy clouds.

“Look, Even, in films you have to believe that your feelings matter. That’s why we watch films, no? To escape the reality that our careers _are_ more fucking important than our feelings because we need that paycheck to keep ourselves fed and clothed and keep the bills paid, blah blah blah. But when we watch movies, we want to forget that. We want to think that this _feeling_ is more important than our stupid fucking careers.” Isak’s through his third vodka soda now.

Even’s looking at him strangely. “All of this … coming from the same guy who would rather fall in love with a million people than one perfect person?”

Isak’s dumbfounded.

Speechless.

Opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, gulping for air.

Even though there was never a script Isak had mentally prepared for in his head for this conversation, he just knows that Even has gone off-book again and Isak doesn’t know how to navigate this dialogue.

“What?”

Even’s tipping his third vodka soda back, his eyes flitting back and forth between his hands and the view outside of the plane. “Give me another vodka soda and we’ll have this conversation.”

_???????? This conversation ????????_

Isak beckons for the air stewardess to come back, giving her a small charming grin.

“Another vodka soda?”

“Give me the hardest liquor you’ve got.”

Even raises his eyebrows. Isak slumps in his chair in response. They’re properly stuck next to each other, after six months of radio silence, teetering on the line of trying to pretend that never happened and trying to pretend they’re ordinary childhood best friends.

The only way they might be able to make it through this situation without trying to jump out of the plane is through inebriation.

The air stewardess brings back two glasses of pure whiskey with a smile and Isak finishes his drink before she’s even turned around to assist another passenger.

“What conversation?”

Even’s observing and mulling over his drink. “This one.”

“So transparent.”

“You’re one to talk about transparency.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“I feel like the shittiest fucking friend on the planet.” Even reveals before he finally tips the drink into his mouth, gulping it down in one sip. “Best friends should be able to read each other like a book. They should know their every mannerisms and their body language like the back of their hand. But Isak, I can never read you. Never have, never could. You’re the closest person to me in my life, but I can’t fucking read you.”

Isak has his secrets, the ones he will make sure are never revealed until he’s cold in his casket. His casket secrets. But that should be a reflection on _him_ , not Even’s character.

“I honestly never knew you felt like that. It doesn’t mean you’re a shitty friend -”

“Every time I think I’m closer to being able to read you, you confuse me all over again. Back in Los Angeles last summer, I thought you wanted me as much I’ve wanted you.”

Isak’s eyes do all but bulge out of his head. “As much as _what_?”

“It took me a minute to realize you’re a bit … _oblivious_ , about things like this. That you’re wrapped up in your own reality in your head most of the time to notice these things. But last summer, that night in L.A, when you asked me if I’d rather fall in love with a million people or one perfect person, I thought this was the turning point for us.”

Isak tries to raise his hand to summon the stewardess for another drink but his body’s frozen. He’s reached a comfortable tolerance with alcohol where he’s not nearly buzzed, but he’s not exactly sober. All of this is brand new information to him and it doesn’t help that they’re confined to their seats.

“You were staring so hopelessly at that couple dancing that I could finally begin to tell something was bothering you. You wouldn’t just call me to join you on tour for two weeks out of the blue for nothing, but I didn’t ask too many questions because you don’t react well to that. You just retreat further into your shell and stop responding. But I thought I could do something to make you feel better. I told you the truth that night, _you’re my one perfect person._ ”

Isak had been _dreaming_ of Even saying these exact same words to him so many months before, often times luring himself to sleep with the thought of Even’s bright, bright eyes looking at him as he whispered those words before their lips connected and ignited a plethora of fireworks in their bodies.

But this doesn’t feel quite the same.

His head is feeling light and airy, the warning signs of feeling buzzed. “You left me that note in my bed.”

“I did it recklessly. I just wanted to make you smile, because you hadn’t looked genuinely happy since I joined your tour and I thought if I told you how loved you were, you would feel better.” Even’s head is tipped to the side, a sign he’s getting close to slurring his words. “But I didn’t want you to feel like you had to choose a relationship - if you even felt the same way, at the end of all things - over your one perfect passion, singing. You have so much going for you, you’re at the top of your career right now! It was selfish of me to write you that note.”

Isak’s mouth is dry, but he’s close to choking on his spit. “So you … _let me go._ ”

Even ruffles his hair. “So I tried to move on and let you flourish. Look at how much you’ve done so far! How much you’ve accomplished, Isak. You’re incredible and I’m so inspired by you every single day. I couldn’t bare the idea of being the reason you put that all behind.”

Isak blinks once, blinks twice. Blinks three times and the airplane is hitting a bit of turbulence, so his head’s shaking back and forth a bit and he’s quite disoriented.

“You thought that if you loved me and I loved you back, I would give up my career to be with you 24/7? Like some doting housewife?”

“Maybe this isn’t the best place to have this conversation,” Even says warningly, his eyes darting behind Isak.

“ _You_ wanted to have this conversation!” Isak whisper-shouts, trying to lower his voice. In his now buzzed state, he doesn’t realize the volume of his voice remains exactly the same. “How could you possibly think that would make anything better?”

“Because I can’t read you, Isak! I didn’t know what you would think about my note. I got nervous that it would make you nervous and that it would effectively ruin our friendship forever, so better just to pretend it never happened.”

_Isn’t it funny how he thinks he can’t read Isak, when Isak had hoped to do that exact same thing when he first found the note?_

But Isak realizes otherwise, something more glaring. “You’re pulling a Darius,” he murmurs, gripping the arms of his seat.

“No, Darius is pulling a me.” Even says rather cheekily, for someone trying to engage in a serious conversation.

Isak can’t help but snort. “Po-tay-to, po-tah-to, it’s all the same in the end. You and I both thinking that if we acted on our feelings, we would ruin everything forever and that we should just pretend the note never happened.”

Even frowns a little. “What exactly are your feelings?”

“That you’re right.” Isak says, biting his lip. “Maybe this isn’t the best place to have this conversation.”

 

XVII.

 

They land in Los Angeles in the morning, with dry mouths, aching heads, and sore limbs. First class is a luxury everyone should know - but sleeping all night on an airplane is never comfortable.

To pass the time from getting off the plane and picking up their suitcases from baggage claim and getting through customs, they make idle chit chat. The weather of California vs Norway, what celebrities do they think they’ll see there, etc. They make plans to at least see each other once while they’re both in the same city, since both of their schedules virtually prevent them from doing anything fun while they’re there.

It’s almost like last night never happened at all.

 

XVIII.

 

Except it did and Isak knows it.

Isak knows that Even wants him to be _happy_ and _thriving_ and to not have a relationship on his hands when he’s at the peak of his career. The thought of that makes him nervous. If he’s already at the peak of his career - then the only place to go afterwards is downwards.

His heart is finally at a standstill.

By Even’s logic, there would never be a time for Isak to start _any_ kind of relationship because no one ever wants to admit when they’re at the peak and when they begin to fall. By Even’s logic, Isak might very well die alone just to put his passion above everything else - which is valid subjectively.

But by Isak’s logic - he’ll feel one thing about Even for weeks. Then he’ll have a complete 180 and feel something for Even for months. Then, he’ll doubt everything he’s ever known.

He can’t deny that his heart is being tugged and pulled away from the studio and across the city to the AirBnB Even’s renting for the month. He can’t deny that he hasn’t sleep for many nights now, thinking of how much he missed his best friend and of how the feelings stopped being pure lust and turned into something stronger than desire.

But he can’t deny that his heart is young and fleeting. Last September, he packed up his belongings and trekked across the world and he can’t lie - even to himself- how _easy_ it all was, if he just didn't think. When he was acting on his impulses, he felt liberated and rejuvenated.

And when he thinks and thinks and thinks, he’s at a standstill.

Sitting in the studio, staring at blank sheets of music paper, Isak is spiraling back towards that dark place again where everything is grey and dismal and storm clouds over him.

 

_“I’m just saying, don’t psych yourself out of something good before it has the chance to happen.”_

 

Turns out, maybe Isak isn’t the only one who could benefit from Jonas’s advice.

 

XIX.

 

Like one of those fucking romance movies Even will one day himself write and win awards for, Isak _books_ it out of the studio.

His legs are skinny and his organs are weak, but his body carries him across the busy, humid streets of Los Angeles towards his destination. This is his detail-oriented task for the day - and most for the rest of his very short life, considering his lungs are very much not equipped to handle long distance running.

He’s running on the high hopes that Even’s actually home in his AirBnb and not in a production meeting, and doesn’t stop to think about the what ifs. _What if he’s not home? What if he’s talking to other people already, because he realizes I will never be good enough for him? What if -_

Isak’s barely able to finish the thought before he’s in front of Even’s rented front door, wheezing.

He’s doing all that he can to stand up straight without collapsing and knocks, knocks, knocks.

Before five seconds pass, Isak’s already spiraling again: _he’s not home, this was a mistake, my whole existence is a mistake, I should just turn around and lay on the ground to die, but if I die before he comes back and I’m just sprawled out over some stranger’s front lawn, will he get arrested, why am I still here, I’m so -_

“Isak?” Even sounds surprised when he _finally_ opens the door. He looks disheveled; his fluffy bed hair sticking straight out and his sweatpants riding low enough on his hips to expose his Calvin Klein boxers. “What are you doing here, I thought you were recording something?”

“I, used to - yeah, used to think that,” Isak huffs out while trying to breathe heavily at the same time. “That you needed to fall -”

“Are you alright? Come inside and sit.”

“No!” Isak says adamantly. He’s starting to feel light-headed. “This is supposed to be romantic and cute.”

“I hate to break it to you - but it won’t be romantic and cute if you pass out from heat exhaustion on my front step and you have to tell me whatever you desperately need to tell me from a hospital bed.”

Isak hates it when he’s right.

He follows Even reluctantly inside, only allowing himself to show mild relief when Even presents him with a cold glass of water. “You’re going to have to pretend the past two minutes didn’t happen.”

Even has the audacity to look amused. “What’s going to happen in the next two minutes?”

“I’m going to tell you that I used to think you had to fall in love with a million people to see the world and truly experience it. But if I only ever fell in love with you, then I’ve already experienced all of the world I’ve needed.”

The smug look falls quickly off of Even’s face.

“And I don’t know if I’ll be any good at this.” Isak says because the adrenaline is kicking in and he’s got all the confidence in the world suddenly. “You already know this about me, but I’ve never been in a real relationship before and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to open up about all of my secrets, so you’re already working with damaged goods here and I have no idea how you could ever think I’m anything close to perfect -”

“Isak, Isak, Isak.” Even cuts him off, reaching for his hands. As if on cue, sparks of electricity fly directly into Isak’s heart. “Never say you’re damaged goods - you undervalue yourself too much. Look, there’s one secret we’ve gotten through.”

Isak looks at him dubiously. “That was a secret?”

Even just smiles at him, that special beaming _Isak smile_. “A poorly hidden one, maybe. And you are perfect. Everything about you is perfect.”

Isak’s not even drunk right now, but he’s close to swooning under the gaze of Even’s eyes. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Your hair. Your eyes. Your voice - _oh God,_ your voice. Your mind.” Even lists off slowly, stepping closer to Isak with each attribute.

Isak’s heart is throbbing in his chest, sensing Even’s proximity. His mind feels rather hazy and love drunk, anything but the genius Even seems to want to make him.

He should say something cute, something romantic before he does this, but Isak can’t physically hold himself back any longer. After months of waiting to feel what it’d be like, he leans in and close his eyes.

Their lips connect in a tender kiss, different from the passionate, hungry one Isak had always imagined would be his second kiss with Even (they had been drunk once at a party back in high school, playing Spin the Bottle with a group of friends). Even’s hands run through his hair and cup his face, his soft thumbs stroking Isak’s cheeks.

Isak pulls away for air, completely forgetting his name and feeling his toes curl in his sneakers. “Oh.”

“That was nice.”

Isak scoffs slightly. “ _Just_ nice?”

“Fucking incredible.” Even whispers before capturing Isak’s mouth once again and sliding his tongue over his lips.

It’s all so innocent, their passionate kissing. It doesn’t turn filthy into gnashing tongues and teeth all over the place, it’s just sweet and innocent kissing. Isak’s body wants more, craves more - but his heart is so full for once, he can’t even think properly. His mind is consumed with this dream boy in front of him, _Even, Even, Even._

He starts to hear a melody in his head and the sound of Even’s soft voice mixed in to the instrumental track, a lullaby blossoming in his mind. He almost lets it get the best of him, but he’s determined to focus on the now instead of the forever and in the now - they’re going to kiss.

 

_There is no fear now_

_Let go and just be free_

_I will love you_

_Unconditionally_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (literally how does one end a story u think i would know by now but i DON'T)
> 
> hi :) takk for reading this, and for being so patient. like i said, the response to last chapter was really really heart-warming and i hope you like this one just as much :)
> 
> disclaimer (or claimer?): manhattan under the moonlight isn’t a real painting - or at least, that i known of. it’s entirely intended to be fictional. the song lyrics are unconditionally by katy perry. 
> 
> i really really hope this meets your expectations or that you liked it! im really happy with the way it turned out and that i did write it, in the end. i miss isak and even a lot, and in every universe they should always have a sweet ending of some sorts.
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr (ourlovelybones) if you wanna. we can talk about this, or about the in my feelings video by drake!!! my king!!!! the video was INCREDIBLE pls come talk to me about it fkjdhfsk. {i'm also v lonely but that's not new}
> 
> thank you all <3

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not sure how this story ends. or if it already has. penny for your thoughts? x
> 
> (every time i think it's ended, you move me again and i have hope that it's not over. at least, i don't want it to be. but if you're ready for this narrative to be over, then i've always understood. just spend one last chapter with me. maybe this saturday. or this sunday. or even monday. i know the timing kind of sucks, i'm sorry. i just miss you.)
> 
> i'm ourlovelybones on tumblr <3


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